Morning Dove
She didn’t seem to care,
Our presence, the latest of so many others,
Was harmless, perhaps annoying,
But necessary to fill her table.
Her feast, our crumbs.
A metaphor for survival?
Our kayak guide’s girlfriend keeps 19 cats,
Her house has no rats.
Could I come home to 19 cats?
There lies the dilemma.
Every form of life, from ameba to whale,
Calls for acceptance of the unacceptable.
Man is allowed to reject.
In doing so he joins innumerable
Life forms, perhaps sooner than necessary,
That chooses satiation over survival.
The dove continues to ignore us,
Irritated by our occasional swipes,
That should tell the silly bird
It’s time for her to find a worm.
She seems to counter,
“I’ve certain rights to these crumbs.
My life is devoted to this table.
I want you to leave”.
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